reflection.

i promise me that this

is last time

i’m writing

and every morning

i break the promise

moment by moment

it has become a ritual for

sometime now and

my lips have worn out promising

and breaking beliefs of

me and of the surface of the

lake beneath which i’ve

grounded all my

pain which keeps

transmitting through ripples

back to me as if

it’s not my breath that

hits the surface and a pebble of

disappointment and i wonder

if i breathe poetry why

do those ripples reflect

you in my eyes.

Author's Note

You review is highly appreciated. Thanks a lot. :)

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

I like the spare wording and the brevity of its delivery. The poet keeps us in suspense as to the meaning of the work until the very end when we find out the source of the pain. Love is hell.